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Paduma's
World By Nihal de Silva
Paduma
the Camel Jockey
The door to the storeroom opens with a crash, allowing the morning
sunlight to stream in. The boys rub their eyes and sit up, groaning
as they stretch their limbs. Standing at the door, with her hands
on her hips, is a plump little girl in a pink dress.
'Umbala
kohenda awey?' she demands. 'Kauda mehey inna kiwwey?'
Where did you come from? Who told you to stay here?
'Räulek apiwa allala hirakeruwa,' Paduma complains. 'Apita
gahuwa hitang.'
A moustache caught us and locked us up. He whacked us too.
The little girl's cheeks wobble with outrage.
'Thathee.
Thathee,' she calls out. 'Meheta enna dämmama.'
Father. Father. Come here immediately.
'Mokada? Mokada Suda?' the big man calls out anxiously; then he
sees the boys. 'Ahh mey yakkuda? Mata ungwa patheley ahuwuna.'
What is it? What is it, Suda? Ahh, it's these devils, is it? I caught
them in the gem pit.
Suda's
hands return to her hips. She turns on the big man furiously.
'I've told you not to do wicked things. How could you lock these
boys up?'
'But baba, they're thieves,' he replies. 'I want to hand them over
to the police.'
'Nonsense.
They are not rogues,' Suda exclaims, taking Mahi Bada by the arm.
'I don't know about the other two but this fellow looks a good boy.'
'They all look the same …' the man mumbles.
'I'm taking them to the house,' Suda announces, interrupting him.
'We must give the poor fellows some food.'
'Whaat?
Are you mad? Food? I'll give them a good whipping.'
"No. You are not to touch them,' Suda announces, 'and I'm going
to hold my breath till you agree to feed them.'
'But duwa …' the man protests but it is useless. Suda pinches
her nose with two plump fingers and clamps her mouth shut. The pink
cheeks puff out and her eyes begin to bulge.
'All
right, all right,' the man says anxiously, 'I'll feed the rascals.
Please start breathing again.'
Suda makes Mahi sit by her side on the bench. Paduma and Bothalay
sit on stools in the kitchen veranda. A massive woman in a printed
housecoat gives them plates filled with boiled manioc and dry fish.
Paduma can see that she is unhappy about feeding them but no one
in the household, it seems, argues with little Suda.
'Put
some more for this one,' she orders, pinching the squirming Mahi's
cheek. 'We must fill him up nicely.'
Suda makes sure Mahi finishes not only every scrap of food but also
the glass of milk she fetches from the kitchen. Paduma and Bothalay
have to be content with a glass of water each. Mahi Bada has a hunted
look on his face. He trembles with fear whenever the little girl
is close by and obeys her without question.
Suda
goes back to the kitchen.
'Ammi, bärida apita anith denna pannala dala, ali patiyawa
thiyaganna?' she asks.
Mother, can't we chase the other two away and keep the baby elephant?
Mahi Bada's eyes go wide in terror and his hands begin to shake.
He turns to the others and pleads in a panic stricken whisper.
'We
c … can't stay here. That girl is s … scary. Let's run
away.'
Paduma also realises that they have stayed long enough. They get
to their feet and steal away round the back of the house.
'Aeii meheta wareng,' the girl cries out behind them.
Hey, come back here.
The
boys walk more briskly.
'Dammama awey nätthang mama huzma allanawa.'
If you don't come back immediately I'm going to hold my breath.
The boys break into a gallop and don't stop till they reach the
main road. Mahi Bada, who normally lags behind in any race, is well
in the lead.
The truck driver drops them near the market and directs them towards
the main bus depot. Ratnapura town is crowded with people buying
clothes and gifts for the New Year. With their stomachs well filled,
the boys have no thoughts of going home but walk along the busy
pavements feasting their eyes on the toys and sweets on display
in the shops. Finally Paduma decides they've seen enough and leads
the others towards the bus stand. The first driver they speak to
gives them a shock.
'Are
you mad? To go to Dambulla you have to go to Colombo first.'
They speak to the other drivers but the answer is the same. And
the tickets will cost a lot of money. Paduma was convinced that
some kindly pilgrims would take them home. He has not thought about
money.
Tired and discouraged the boys sit on a bench. Paduma too has run
out of ideas. A thin man in a stained shirt and ragged trousers
speaks to them.
'I was watching you go from bus to bus,' he says with a kindly smile.
'What is the problem? Can't you find your parents?'
'We
climbed Sri Pada but came down the wrong way,' Bothalay blurts out,
relieved that someone is willing to listen. 'Our village is near
Dambulla but no one is going that way.'
'Ahh
don't worry,' the thin man says. 'Come with me and meet my mudalali.
He is always willing to help young people in trouble.'
The boys are delighted and follow the thin man down a muddy alley
and then through a narrow gap between two ancient buildings.
Mudalali turns out to be a bald man smoking an oily cigar. He listens
without speaking while the thin man relates the boys' sad story.
'Hmm,
so the parents don't know where these boys are, do they?' he asks.
'No, mudalali. Their people are searching for them in Maskeliya.'
'Rashid, we must arrange to send these boys to their homes,' Mudalali
says. 'But they must be very hungry now. Let's give them some food.'
'Yes, mudalali,' the thin man answers.
Mudalali
turns to the boys and studies them for a minute.
'How old are you fellows?'
'Ten years,' Paduma answers. 'We are in the same class.'
'Ahh, they look very big and strong for ten years, don't they Rashid?'
'Yes, yes. I thought they were much older.'
'All
right,' the bald man says, waving his arm. 'Give them something
to eat and let them rest a while. Then we'll see about sending them
back.'
The boys have not enjoyed a good meal of rice since they left home.
They pitch into the parcels that Rashid brings for them. There is
no talking till a bloated Paduma pushes the remnants away, unable
to swallow another grain. Mahi carries on eating while Paduma and
Bothalay wash their fingers in the basin Rashid holds for them.
They
are in a large room at the back of the premises. A half wall and
heavy metal mesh separates the room from the yard at the back. The
room must have been used for carpentry work for there are some planks
arranged against one wall. There are two narrow benches in the middle
of the room.
'Mey modayo banku hari usata hadala,' Bothalay tells Rashid. 'Wadiwenna
wath bähä.'
These
fools have made the benches very tall. No one can sit on them.
'Eh wadiwenna nevei,' Rashid answers. 'Banku thiyenney lee yathu
ganna.'
That's not for sitting. The bench is to plane timber.
A
downcast Bothalay follows Paduma who is studying some pictures pinned
to the wall, beautifully coloured posters showing strange animals
with tiny riders on their backs. The animals have two funny humps,
long necks and ugly faces.
'What
are these animals?' Paduma asks. 'What are they doing?'
'Oh those are racing camels.'
'Is a camel a kind of horse?'
'No. Camels live in the desert.'
'Are
the riders dwarfs?' Paduma asks, squinting at one of the posters.
'No. Those are small boys. They have been trained to ride camels
in races.'
'Really?' Bothalay asks, filled with excitement. 'Does this happen
in Colombo?'
'No.
No. In another country,' Rashid says with a laugh. 'In Arabia.'
Rashid tells them to stay in the room till the mudalali sends for
them. The boys, no longer hungry and bored with sitting around,
pick up some discarded strips of wood and try to devise play swords
out of them.
They hear voices in the next room and stop to listen.
'I
have arranged with a truck driver to take them to their village,'
the mudalali says. 'They will leave in the morning.'
'That's good,' Rashid says, 'because they are getting interested
in the camel races.'
'What?
I hope you didn't tell them that all the riders are small boys like
them.'
'I had to tell them,' Rashid answers. 'They asked if the riders
were dwarfs.'
'Well, don't tell them that those riders have become very rich with
the prizes they've won,' the mudalali says, dropping his voice.
'If they know that those boys own big cars and live in palaces,
they'll pester us to send them also.'
'Why
can't we send them?' Rashid asks. 'They are the right age for training.'
'Are you mad? These boys want to go home. No. Don't tell them anything.'
By the time Rashid brings their dinner the boys know what they want.
Mahi wants to see his mother first but has been shouted down. The
vision of driving back to the village one day in a new car filled
with presents for their families is too much. They have decided
to become camel jockeys.
'No. No. The mudalali will never agree,' Rashid says in a shocked
tone. 'He wants to send you home to your village.'
'Uncle,
you tell him we want to become jockeys,' Paduma says. 'He did say
we looked strong. Please ask him to send us.'
'All right,' Rashid says reluctantly. 'I'll ask him in the morning.
Maybe he will say yes.'
Their
mats have been spread out on the floor but the boys too excited
to sleep. They are sure the mudalali will agree to send them to
Arabia. They discuss what they will do with the rich prizes they
win.
'Let's practice riding,' Paduma says pointing at the two high benches.
'Mudalali is sure to take us when we show him we can ride.'
Mahi
refuses to try so Paduma and Bothalay climb on by stepping on Mahi's
shoulders. Mahi brings them two sticks to carry as whips, just as
the riders in the posters do. They start the race with shouts of
encouragement and the benches rock dangerously as the jockeys bounce
up and down. It is Paduma's stick that strikes the kerosene lantern
hanging from a hook on the roof and brings it crashing to the floor.
The
fire spreads with frightening speed. Soon the stacked planks are
on fire; the boys run to the door but it is locked. They crouch
against it in terror. The heat is intense as the fire gets closer
and closer. Just when they have given up hope they hear shouting
outside and the door is opened with a crash.
The
boys put their heads down and dash out; Paduma's head rams straight
into the belly of the fat police constable who has opened the door.
The air goes out of the man in an anguished 'WOOSH'. He falls back
but manages to grab Paduma by the neck.
'This
rascal's head is like a coconut,' he complains, rubbing his stomach.
'These devils are lucky,' another constable says. 'If not for the
fire they'd have ended up as slaves in Saudi.'
'I've
been after this mudalali for months,' the first constable says.
'This time we've got him with the goods. He'll go to jail for sure.'
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